The Storm

Two things I have learned in the past week:
1. Babies have amazing stamina and vocal ability for their size.
2. As hard as things can be, I have it easy compared to my wife.
How did I come to such astute conclusions? I lived it, man. I’m living it, now.
I realize that much of what I have been writing and what I will be writing is old news to those of you out there who are parents. I also realize that many of my theories and assumptions may be way off. But, that’s what makes all of this so interesting. It’s all new to me! That being said, my daughter can cry like no other person I have ever heard.
What makes Finley’s cries so astounding to me, is how long she can go. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I time her or am trying to get her to break some record, but when that girl gets going, I sometimes wonder if the world is ending and I’m not noticing.
At first, it bothered me a whole bunch. I wondered if she was in pain or if I had done something wrong, but I think aside from occasional gas pains, her cries are her only way of communicating. She’s talking to me through these little, sometimes big noises. And there are different cries for different needs/emotions.
There’s the “I’m awake, you should feed me” cry. It sounds like a short cat squall to me. There’s the “He idiot, my pacifier fell out of my mouth” cry. That’s accompanied by the furrowed brow and pout of doom. Then there’s the “No you don’t get it. The pacifier isn’t working, give me a bottle, now” cry. If you don’t act fast enough with that one you’ll get the “You are the worst parents, ever. How can you make me starve?” cry. I’m not too fond of that one.
As I learned this week, during the first part of my paternity leave, there are ways to soothe the savage baby. But, ultimately, like the rest of us, food is comfort. I guess it’s the whole “fat and happy baby” theory. They say you can’t spoil an infant, but you CAN make them look like the Michelin Man. So, armed with a supply of breast milk and a stack of spit-up towels, I worked my way through week one.
The first two days weren’t so bad. Finley had a couple of three-hour naps which made the days go by nicely. Then days three and four hit. I was lucky if my little angel slept more than thirty minutes at a time. These were the days I learned the ins and outs of crying. The worst part of all of this was not knowing why she’s crying. As I said before, I have theories, but there’s always the thought in my head that she is in some sort of pain. And the worst of the worst is that she can’t tell me where it hurts.So, I keep cuddling her and stroking her hair and saying “Shhh” or talking softly to her. And it helps. Sometimes it takes a while, but she calms down. And that’s when I feel like dad. When this little person is sleeping soundly in my arms or on my chest, it doesn’t get any better.
But it’s also during these times I realize that I have it lucky. I don’t have to nurse or worry about breast pumping along with all the other daily baby duties. In fact, there are always a couple of bottles of mama’s milk in the fridge and all I have to do is warm them up. Heather is mom, milk machine and wife all wrapped into one. Finley and I have it good.
So now, as the second week begins, I am a bit more mentally prepared for what Finley has to throw at me. I know there will be more crying. I hope there will be more sleeping. And I’m sure I’ll discover some new part of babydom I never knew existed. But, I’ll be there to help her through all of it. Now, and for as long as I can. Because that’s my job. That’s a daddy’s job.

The Calm

It’s now six weeks since Finley arrived on our little planet and it’s been a pretty good ride, so far. She’s loved, fed, changed and bathed on a more than regular basis. The world around her is beginning to come into a little more focus. And those darn cute chubby cheeks just keep getting chubbier. Things, for the most part, have been smooth on our end as well. This is largely due to Heather and her aforementioned ability to wage control. But now, things are about to change.

Heather started her maternity leave the Friday before Finley was born (as planned, of course). But she has to go back into work for two weeks while her assistant, who was filling in, goes on her honeymoon. That means I start two of my six weeks of paternity leave, today. That’s right, I’m flying solo. And not just one of those Horizon Air, Seattle to Spokane flights. We’re talking full-on Seattle to Miami, direct connection.

Now, before you start envisioning me running around the house with wild hair and a mess on every surface (which oddly enough, is what life was like for me BEFORE marriage), you have to understand that I have a great coach. And although it may not seem like I am paying attention all the time or it may seem that I forget what she says or even hear it, I’m watching and learning.
You see, one of the reasons I knew I wanted to marry Heather (apart from the whole, “I am absolutely crazy in love with her” part) was because of the way she is around her niece and nephew. We go up to Whidbey Island whenever we can to visit her family. And almost every visit is centered around the kids, as it probably should be. And when Auntie Heather shows up, it’s better than a visit from Santa. Not because of the load of gifts she always seems to bring, but because she commands the kids with an even mixture of love and discipline. It’s not always a perfect day when we go to the Island, but the kids are always sad to see Auntie go.

So I watch and I learn. I watch her hold our baby with a gentle firmness. It’s loving yet strong enough to hold that little head or keep her still when she’s crying. I listen to her talk to Finley as if she could answer. They’re talking about clothes and growing up and even about daddy. And I watch her rock her to sleep. Heather is the safe, warm part of the crazy sea that is Finley’s life.

Sure there are the little things, like changing a diaper and giving a bath. But the important things all have to do with human contact. And Heather is a great example. Finley is a lucky little girl to have Heather for a mommy. And if I can be half as good for these two weeks, then I have nothing to worry about.

Baby Talk

As Finley grows and starts to become more aware of her surroundings and especially of her mommy and me, I sense that she’s in the beginning stages of communication. She’s not chiseling antelopes on our walls, but she is figuring out how her noises and body movements help her to get what she wants. Her arsenal of noises range from cooing to whimpers to grunts. And then there’s the old standby, the all-out cry. But even her crying is becoming selective to the needs she has. In fact her cries change depending on if she gets what she wants right away or not. The madder she gets the more tragic her cries become. She’s already becoming a drama queen, like her mama. Of course, Heather has no idea what I am talking about.

A typical communication session goes like this: She’ll be sleeping and either wake herself up with a jolt or just lay there as her eyes open. Once she figures out that she’s pretty much trapped like a turtle on her back, the first set of noises begin. There might be a subtle cooing sound or some heavy nose snorts to signal that sleep may not return. It’s like she’s trying to figure out who’s near, because if there is no immediate response, she’ll repeat the sounds. Sometimes she jumps straight into a short cry. It’s actually more of a yell. Sort of a, “Hey! I’m waking, here!” If it’s the middle of the night, she might realize that nobody’s rushing to her side and fall back to sleep. Or she’ll repeat the sounds then move on to grunts of frustration. Or she might decide that this is the time to wake up, and move to a nice, loud cry. That’s usually the time one of us picks her up.

The first few moments after the pickup are important, here. If she’s hungry, she’ll jump into the multiple, sustained cries which signal the need for food. Sometimes, she just wants to look around, from up high and may softly suggest with a couple of whimpers that she could snack, if it’s available. Ninety percent of the time, she needs a diaper change and depending on the previous hungry/slightly hungry mode, that could be a nice, easy pit stop or it could be a wrestling match. Either way, a bottle or a boob are most likely in the near future.

Now, our little angel may only be five weeks old, but she’s already becoming a picky eater. She loves to nurse for two reasons; The food and the comfort. Often times, to Heather’s dismay, she’ll suckle for a few minutes and conk out. Heather has to poke and prod and tickle Finley to remind her that she’s there for a reason. Then there are the times we bottle feed her. And since I am lactose intolerant, which means I don’t nurse, Daddy’s feeding times are all about the bottle. And as of late, I’m having to keep the wiggle worm at bay, while constantly reminding her that yes, this is still food. She’s not a big fan of the bottle… at first. But once she realizes that the food flows a little faster, she calms down. Eight times out of ten, after a bottle feeding and a big burp, she’s out for the count.

It’s during these bottle feedings… my most intimate time with her… that I wonder what’ going on in that little brain of hers. I mean, she has virtually no vocabulary to work with, so what are her thoughts? Are they images or from her five-week old memory? Sometimes when she sleeps, she seems to frown or smile or even wake herself up as if she’s scared. What could she possibly be dreaming? I would think her dreams would be limited to a short life spent looking up at us. So maybe she’s dreaming about us.

But it’s also during these bottle feedings that I wonder how long this will last. This constant dependence on these two people who are always looming overhead. Most of you out there will say it never ends. And as I think about that, it doesn’t seem so bad. We spend a good portion of our lives alone and/or looking for someone to be with. And here’s this little person that needs you. Right here. Right now. It can be overwhelming. But to me, as a new daddy, I wouldn’t want it any other way. Besides, it won’t be too long before she’s using her words and instead of a loud wail, it will be a loud “DADDY!” And I’ll get up in the middle of the night and go see what I can do for my little noisemaker.

Smiling Phases

Well, Finley turned a month old on Easter Sunday and we’re starting to settle into a bit of a routine. That is to say that when she cries, we cuddle her. When she’s hungry, we feed her. And when she poops, we change her. And THAT is our routine. But every once in a while, in between the times she’s crying, eating, pooping or sleeping, we get to play with her a bit. We can put her on a lap and watch her check out the world around her. At this point in her new life, she can’t really see much more that a few inches away. The baby books say that all she can see is a fuzzy view of black, white and red. In fact at four weeks, the world is not much more than the midway point of a developing Polaroid picture.

And as she’s sitting on our laps, enthralled by the light flickering through the curtains or just staring at us, her face contorts in a series of random muscle movements. To us, it’s like she’s going through a bunch of emotions at once; She’s mad. She’s intrigued. No, she’s surprised. To her, she’s probably just experimenting with all these new face muscles and hasn’t a clue to what she’s doing. But every once in a while, as I’m tickling her or playing with her little chubby cheeks, she smiles. And of course, it’s the cutest thing ever.

But does she know she’s smiling? I like to think so. I like to think that daddy is the funniest guy around. That my little word plays and dumb dad jokes will be the cornerstone of her education in humor. I like to think that someday, she’ll ask me about Steve Martin and Mike Meyers. I hope to explain to her that fart jokes aren’t always the funniest jokes and that Curly was WAY better than Shemp. That Robin Williams is tolerable in small doses. I can’t wait to talk to her about the difference between Mel Brooks and Albert Brooks and why Woody Allen is a genius. I also hope that when she gets a bit older she’ll want to watch Monty Python, SCTV and Kids in the Hall DVDs with me. Heather is reading this and shaking her head with that look. The “idiot” one. I guess I’m getting ahead of myself. I’m sure she’ll just laugh at the word “poop,” to begin with. We’ll move up from there at a nice, slow pace. Kid riddles and knock-knock jokes. Then we’ll move on to the subtle mastery of Larry, Mo and Curly.

But science tells me she doesn’t know she’s smiling. Not yet. According to science the first real smile may appear as early as 6 weeks, but is not expected to be a regular expression and that babies smile readily by 12 weeks, and by 6 months most smile ecstatically at the people they know best. In fact, this is what science has to say about babies and smiling: “A baby's first proper social smile generally occurs at about four to six weeks, though it may be seen earlier and dismissed as wind.” So I guess she likes fart jokes. We’ll have to work on that, one step at a time. Now, where did I put my Three Stooges DVDs?

Wood to the Wise

When we found out Heather was pregnant, my brother asked if there was anything in particular he could make for us. You see, my older brother, Dan, is quite the woodworker. He made rocking horses for my nephews and even built a full-on swing set/fort for his own kids’ backyard. Last year, he helped me make a bathroom cabinet for Heather. So, when he asked about making something, I thought it would be cool if we could build it together. Originally, Heather wanted us to make a changing table, but we both decided that if we could build a crib, it would be more of an heirloom. We looked at a few styles and Dan poked around for plans and designs and we met halfway.

I want to make it perfectly clear that Dan is the wood smith, here. I’m the helper elf, more of an O.R. nurse than anything. When it comes down to the important cutting and especially the math, it’s all him. I can work a mean sander, and I even had some design ideas that we implemented, but he’s the boss in this factory.

What’s interesting about when you embark on a project of this size, is how hard it is to see the final product. I mean, you have all this lumber sitting there and it’s going to end up as a crib. Some people, like my brother, can see it. I’m learning.

But you have to start at the beginning. In this case, it was several feet of boards and a couple of big, plywood sheets. We spent a day planing the wood down to the right size before we cut it into the basic shapes that would form the frame of the crib. Then we would start to shape the wood into the more decorative pieces so we didn’t just have a box with a mattress in it. We had some curved pieces in mind, which required us to cut and even bend the wood away from its regular straightness. A few trips through the band saw and some extra work on a belt sander were required to get as close to perfect as we could get. The key to this whole thing for me is to be patient and not fight the wood. Not to make any overly aggressive moves, but to gently guide it into the shape desired. With Dan’s final touches we were able to get a couple of curved decorative pieces created which allowed us to see the first part of our crib coming to life.

Once we had the basic pieces shaped and put together, it was time for the hardware. We needed to make our crib easy to take apart and move. We needed to make the gate of the crib slide up and down. And we needed to make sure it did all this and still keep its stability and shape. I won’t lie, it took a few miss-lined drill holes and stripped bolts before it came into place. It would have been nice to get it perfect on the first shot, but there’s nothing wrong with messing up, then trying again. The next thing I knew, I was tightening the last bolt then stepped back to see the result. I must say I am pretty darned proud. We still have to paint it, but to see that crib in the workshop, all put together, made from our own hands was a pretty cool thing. It took a lot of time and effort to put it all together. And there is no way any of this could have been done without the help of my brother. But that’s what makes it so special.

When I got home, Finley was asleep in her bassinet. And I felt proud all over again. Here is our little creation. Mine and Heather’s. Neither one of us are too experienced at this, but if we remain patient and don’t fight it, we should do okay. There will be moments when it will be extremely difficult. But as long as we make sure we do this, together, we can move on from mistakes. We can’t see the final result of our little girl, yet. But I do know that with a lot of time and effort and a little imagination she will grow up to be the best thing we’ve ever worked on. And I’ll have a lot less sawdust in my clothes.